


Triplicate

by Draikinator



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Humour
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-04
Updated: 2015-09-04
Packaged: 2018-04-19 01:18:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4727330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Draikinator/pseuds/Draikinator
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Whirl puts in a formal request.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Triplicate

Rodimus dug the end of his knife into the organic matter of his desk, twisting the sharp tip against the heavy dry fibers of the wood, carving in some esoteric, mindless shape and trying to look distracted.

“So?” Whirl asked, impatiently, shifting his weight between digitigrade legs, towering over the sitting Captain.

“No,” Rodimus said, succinctly.

“Come on, Rodders! Pleeeeaaase!” Rodimus looked up at him and grimaced.

  
“No,” he repeated, “I’m not letting you do that.”

“Seriously?! Why not?!”

“Because it- this is an outrageous fragging request, Whirl, why WOULD I let you?”

“Because!”

“…No. Seriously, it’s not happening, Whirl.”

Whirl was silent, before gathering his datapads messily up from the desk with his claws and standing back to his full height, “Fine.”

He left the room.

000

Rodimus jolted at the stack of datapads dropped neatly onto his desk, towering over his line of sight.

“What the frag?” He stood, baffled, scrunching up his optics in confusion to see Whirl standing at attention in front of his desk, and wearing his badge proper, for once.

“Captain,” Whirl said calmly.

“Uh. Uh?” Rodimus prompted, and Whirl cleared his vocalizer.

“A formal request to paint rear starboard outer wall r42, sir.”

Rodimus stared blankly at him, then picked up the first datapad, “What… Are all these?”

“That one,” Whirl said, “is a class 86, subsection 22 location requisition form. In triplicate. Beneath that,” he said, nudging the first out of he way and tapping the one beneath it, “is a housing lawsuit. Standard habitation suite size for an autobot of my cubic volume is 8.5x8.5x7 meters, bare minimum. My habsuite is 8.3x8.2x7 meters in size, making it a violation of my basic rights. Section 8-d of the Autobot code, sir.”

Rodimus grimaced, “You have to be kidding me.”

Whirl shook his head and somehow, facelessly, seemed to grin, “In accordance with section 8-d, you are required to expand my habsuite.”

“That- that would utterly compromise the infrastructure of the entire ship, you idiot!” Rodimus yelled, slamming the datapad onto the tabletop. Whirl raised both claws placatingly.

“I would, however, be happy to take my space allocation elsewhere, with adjustments for depth, of course.”

Rodimus made a face as realization dawned over him, “You want the rear starboard wall. You want to own it.”

“Yes. Yes I do.”

“Well, too bad,” Rodimus said, cocky grin returning as he leaned back in his seat, “I don’t care about your habsuite size.”

  
“Tsk tsk tsk, Rodders, you’re making such a bad example for a lowly crew member like me. Wouldn’t you agree, Magsy?”

“I would prefer you not call me that,” Magnus’s voice sighed, crackling, through Whirl’s wrist-comm. Rodimus narrowed his optics.

“Magnus, do not tell me-”

“Rodimus, just give him the wall. He filled out more paperwork than you ever have.”

“Magnus, you know what he wants to do, right?!”

“Rodimus, we’re in space, no one will even see it.”

“But-”

“I genuinely do not have time for this,” Magnus sighed, and the commline cut. Rodimus pouted.

“Fine. Fine!” He said, jumping to his feet to stomp angrily around his desk, “I don’t care! Go paint it! Whatever!” He snatched the datapad off his desk, signed it, and thrust it into Whirl’s claws.

Whirl stared at him for a long moment, before putting his claw on Rodimus’ shoulder.

“Rodders.”

“What?” Rodimus snapped, irritably. 

“Do you want to help me paint Dickbutt on the ship?”

Rodimus stared at him for a very, very long moment, before rolling his optics, pinching the bridge of his nose and sighing, “Yes. Yes I do.”


End file.
